Grand Opening
The new bakery opens.
They hang a red banner
beneath the awning,
Grand Opening Today!
Two weeks later, the sign
still dangles, a half-smile
spanning the storefront.
No cars in the parking lot.
One month, two months,
a season later. The sign
screams about the grand
opening. It’s happening,
the ovens clutch matter
within themselves,
transforming it. Cakes
and bread fill the cases.
Here in this bakery
is hope, bread held
by real human hands,
boxes of yet-to-be folded
boxes stacked in the back.
Customers come in, buy
wedges of cake, brownies,
cookies shaped like flowers.
The owners look out
through the front window.
The bottom of the red sign
hovers in their field of vision.
They cannot cut it down.
They worry that the world
will not notice what they do
if they don’t point to it.
Excellent. A fine, tight poem.
ReplyDeletethe ovens clutch matter
within themselves,
transforming it.
These lines brought it ti life for me.
Pleased you found inspiration in Lee Price.
ReplyDeleteYour poem is thought-provoking. It's fun to imagine what the world would notice and deem important and necessary if we had no ads mucking up our environments. Your use of bread is especially symbolic in this context. Excellent poem, as always.
from Therese L. Broderick -- I like this detail: that the owners can see the reverse of the banner from indoors. I read this poem aloud and enjoyed these sound links: awning, opening, owner ; cakes, cases. I like that the sign seems alive itself: half-smile, screaming.
ReplyDeleteHa ha...it sounds like you live in Pasadena...we have grand openings year around, we also have that very special clearance moving going out of business sale that cannot be repeated at least for 4 years...now I can finally see what it is all about...you rock Hannah! xoxo
ReplyDeleteSo poignant, the image of the owners looking out the window at the sign. Sigh.
ReplyDeleteLee Price's art work is amazing, I came across it not too long ago...it speaks chapters, doesn't it?
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed your poem, especially the last stanza, which deserves several readings:
"They cannot cut it down.
They worry that the world
will not notice what they do
if they don’t point to it."
It's a sad/inextricable part of being human, I think, worrying that people don't notice what we do unless we point it out, and often (sigh).